


The Gang's All Here

by AliuIce0814



Category: The Avengers (2012), askavengers blog
Genre: F/M, Gen, Inside jokes, M/M, bruce and mattie are bros, christmas is the day after thanksgiving, don't cry over spilled milk, i narrate from the grave, if you don't get it, it isn't meant for you, kaylee knows how to work a fire extinguisher, lots of hero-worshipping, ms jess can't, nicole is good at musicals and has lots of friends, peter is a romantic, steve and bruce can cook, this is the story of my love for the askavengers blog, thor can't cook, tons of real people, tony doesn't understand all these insane people in his life, wally is wally and likes pigeons, what the hell am i doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for everyone from the askavengers blog (askavengers.tumblr.com). In which we all end up staying with the Avengers and wreaking havoc in the way only we could. A fic in which I am the first-person narrator as myself, the Avengers are incredibly domestic, and inside jokes are used gratuitously. This isn't a work of art. It's a testament to how much I love a certain group of people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know what the hell is going on, chances are that this isn't meant for you. I'm sure I forgot some people, and I feel horrible for that. I just sort of threw us all into a room and imagined the craziness that would ensue.

            I wake up to a pillow hitting my face. Immediately, I roll off the bed and into whoever’s beating me with something fluffy. That person crashes to the ground with a grunt. “G’morning.”

            I freeze. That person is definitely _not_ my mum. “Good…morning?”

            “Actually, it’s afternoon, but it’s morning for you. Come on. Get up.” They grab my hand and drag me to my feet. “Thor’s making waffles.”

            “Thor what?”

            The person in front of me is a brown-haired blur; I’m half-blind without my glasses. They seem to realize this because they shove my glasses at me. I rub the lenses on my shirt before I push the glasses up the bridge of my nose. Then I stare. Short brown hair, all fluffy and sticking up; wearing a black tee with a drawing of the arc reactor on the front—“Toni?”

            “Yup. Good mor—surprise hug?”

            I’m clinging to her. I try to say, “Where did you come from?” but what comes out is, “I was hiding underneath your porch because I love you.”

            Toni grins and messes up my hair. “Good! Come get waffles.”

            “Waffles? Where?”

            “Kitchen, duh.” Toni drags me out of my room—is it my room? My room at home isn’t circular, and my computer is definitely not as fancy as the blue touchscreen sitting on the wooden desk—and into a glass elevator. If I were more awake, I would probably think to make a _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ crack, or maybe say something about feminism, but right now I’m too fascinated and nauseated by the fact that I can see all the way down to the bottom of the building through the floor of the elevator. We’re in a skyscraper in New York City about a million floors up, and—

            The elevator dings. A voice from the building itself says, “Sir, Toni and—” and then I tune it out because if I let myself realize that _that’s JARVIS,_ I’ll start hyperventilating. Toni grabs my arm and pulls me into the high-ceilinged room when I don’t get out of the elevator on my own. I’m overwhelmed by all the noise that echoes off of the wide windows and metallic walls. A baby’s crying. People are laughing and yelling. A smoke detector is beeping, and so is the poor waffle iron, which is blackened. Toni sighs. “No waffles.”

            “You slept a long time!” The accusing voice comes from around my midsection. I look down and stare at the unfamiliar boy who’s tugging at the bottom of my sweatshirt. When he smiles, he’s got dimples. “Better now? Thor’s tryin’a make waffles, but he set the waffle machine on fire. Boing’s beatin’ Unca Tony up. Hi, Aun’ Toni.”

            While the little boy busies himself with attaching permanently to Toni’s legs, I’m nearly run over by a pair of wrestlers, a scruffy teenaged boy and a shorter girl who is nevertheless taking him down. The little boy—Alex, I realize, Ms. Jess’ Alex—squeaks indignantly at them, and the boy wrestler grunts what might be an apology before his opponent pins him. “This don’t mean nothin’. I could whoop your ass.”

            “Yeah, right.” She twists his arm. “Give up?”

            “No. Okay, fine, yeah! Jesus, Boing, get off me. Get off.” Eva smashes Little Tony’s face into the floor instead. When I laugh, he says something I assume is rude, but the floor swallows it.

            “Hey,” a voice above me says. I jump and look up at the open air vent to see Clint freaking Barton hanging out of it. I halfway say “hey” back before I realize how terrible my voice sounds and shut my mouth instead. He keeps talking anyway, probably ignoring my strangled noises. “Could you get Thor away from the waffles? Please? I was trying to get Wally to, but—argh, no, Wally, motherfucking _no_ —” A tan arm reaches out of the vent and drags Clint back into the air duct’s depths.

            Toni reaches over and hits me under my chin so I’ll close my mouth. “He’ll be okay. Totally fine. Go save the waffles.”

            Now I have a mission. I stare through the maze of people at my target: the burning waffle iron. In some spots, people are packed together, even on top of each other. I wind my way between them—a tanned guy who’s about the size of a hobbit eats a box of s’mores Pop-Tarts, that must be Pop-Tart; Natasha, oh, shit, that’s _Natasha Romanoff_ , is speaking Russian into the open air vent, probably threatening Clint and Wally with disembowelment; another teenager with glasses and an eager expression, Kaylee, is throwing bits of charred waffle at Thor’s face. I grin at her when I hop up on the counter beside her. She grins back and throws a piece of waffle at me. “Thor can’t cook.”

            “I can,” he protests. “I just am not used to Midgardian technology.”

            “You burned the waffle iron.”

            “Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” I reach for the charred waffle iron, then hesitate. “Kaylee, do you have a fire extinguisher?”

            “Right here. I stole it from Dummy.” She holds it up and shakes it. “Tell me when you want me to spray it.”

            “Will do.” I’m not stupid, but I’m not the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to hot things, so I manage to burn my hand on the waffle iron while I’m unplugging it. I tell myself _don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, you damn idiot_ , so of course I start crying, little hiccupping whimpers. Suddenly, a pair of huge arms wraps around me, and I give up on trying not to cry because Thor is hugging me, and he’s a giant. I’ve never thought of myself as a tiny person before now, but I’m miniscule. I lean my head against his chest, and it feels like I’m a baby again. I can’t decide whether to feel safe or frightened.

            “Hey, kiddo. What happened? Show me what happened.”

            Thor’s hug is amazing, but I recognize that voice, and I have to duck away from him to launch myself at Ms. Jess. She laughs and hugs back. I bury my face in the crook of her shoulder, mindful of my glasses, and cling. “What did you do?” she asks again. I wave my injured hand in her direction. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did just a second ago. She sighs. “You klutz. Come here. Go warsh your hand—shut up—go wash your hand,” she amends, careful not to say the “r” she always puts in “wash,” “and then we’ll put milk on it to make it hurt less. Where’s the milk, Thor?” she asks while I gingerly wash my burned hand.

            “I believe Wally drank—” Thor’s cut off by two high-pitched battle cries. A curly-haired toddler and Alex jump from the counter onto Thor’s shoulders. Thor roars with laughter and throws them in the air one at a time. They nearly touch the ceiling before falling back into Thor’s arms.

            “Careful,” a voice calls from the other side of the room. Ms. Jess and I both jump; she rubs the back of her neck and rummages in the refrigerator. She’s blushing. I close my eyes and take three deep breaths to calm myself down before I turn around and see Bruce Banner relaxing on an overstuffed couch. He’s fixing Thor with a stern look over the rim of his glasses. “Be careful with Alex and Beth.”

            “Of course,” Thor says. He tickles Beth, who squirms and giggles.

            “We’re bein’ careful with Bethie, Bruce!” Alex kisses Beth’s cheek. She laughs and pushes his face away with her hand. “Real careful.”

            Bruce sighs, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Please don’t throw my daughter into the ceiling.”

            “Or my son,” Ms. Jess adds, “no matter how much he likes flying. Here, dear heart.” She hands me a cup of milk. After a minute trying to understand how I’m supposed to get the milk on my hand, I just stick my whole hand in the glass and lean my back against the counter so I can study the room.

            That must be Mattie, curled by Bruce on the couch. A red-headed toddler is sprawled across their laps—Ana, must be, Clint and Natasha’s daughter. Bruce, Mattie, and Ana look so at ease that it loosens the tension in my own spine. Two girls sit in the middle of the couch, holding what looks like a touchscreen computer; when one of them says “Loki” with a Scottish accent, I realize she’s Lauryn. Loki must be on the other end of the call. Peter and Nicole sit on the other side of the couch, feet entwined, lost in a pile of textbooks and term papers. There are even more voices coming from the room adjacent to this one. I can’t imagine how many of us are here.

            Despite my stomach-turning fear, I want to say hi to everyone. Instead, I’m squished by Toni, who falls into the counter while trying to tug a waffle away from Wally. When Wally loses possession of the waffle, she flops face-first on the floor and makes sounds I generally associate with dying animals. One of the Avengers’ babies toddles over and sits on her back. Wally groans. The baby climbs off of her again, startled, and then wanders out of the kitchen.

            “Did somebody fix the waffle iron, J? Yeah, good. Okay. No, wait, not okay. What the hell happened? Did it catch on fire? What did you do to my waffle iron, Toni?”

            “I didn’t do anything, Dad. It’s Thor’s fault.”

            “I’m not buying that.” And there’s Tony Stark, standing in front of Toni with his arms crossed in front of his chest. She mirrors him, arms crossed in front of her arc reactor t-shirt. From her spot on the floor, Wally makes another dying whale noise. Tony flinches. I drop my glass of milk. “Wally, what the hell?”

            “I’m sorry!” she and I both say. I jump over her to grab a roll of paper towels from beside the sink. I wad up about half of the paper towels and start patting Wally’s milk-soaked back. “Are you okay?” I ask.

            “Is that milk? Why is there milk on my back? Daddy Tony, Daddy Tony, Toni stole my waffle. She took it from me! And Clint was being totally mean. He wouldn’t let me crawl through the air ducts.”  
           

            “Because you’re fucking insane!” Clint yells from the air ducts. Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Thor throws Beth into the air again.

            “I’m sorry,” I try to say to Tony. It comes out twice as high as it normally would. Wally lifts her head from the puddle of milk to stare at me, wide-eyed. Then she bursts out laughing. In a second, I’m caught in hysterical laughter, too. I laugh so hard that I start to cry again. “I spilled the milk.”

            “Yeah, I can see that. It’s okay, just—go—go towards the couch. Get out of the kitchen.” I scramble out of Tony’s way, trying to breathe and not think about that being _Tony fucking Stark_. “Why did I let you people into my Tower?” he says a bit desperately. Wally laughs maniacally from the floor.

            “Are you okay, doll?”

            I freeze six inches from someone’s chest. A white t-shirt is stretched across their impressive pecs. I don’t have to look up to know who it is, so I look down at our tennis shoes instead. “Yes, Captain Rogers. Wally’s not, though. I spilled milk on her.”

            “I think she’s all right.” I can hear the smile in Captain Rogers’ voice.

            “Yeah. I’m going to, um,” have a meltdown because I’m not allowed in the kitchen, but I can’t sit on the couch because Bruce is there and Nicole is there and there is no way I won’t be even more of a stupid fangirl around them, “harass Little Tony.” Once I say it, it sounds like a great idea. Little Tony’s sitting over by the elevator all by himself, probably stewing since Eva kicked his ass. I take the time to look up at Captain Rogers and smile before I run over to Little Tony and sit beside him.

            “If you start singing that fuckin’ One Direction laughing shit, I swear to God….”

            “What? What are you going to do?”

            “I hate you.”

            I grin wider. “I know. That’s why I came over here.”

            “’Cause you want to bitch at me?”

            “Mm…basically. It’s easier than…people.”

            Tony tilts his head. For a second, I think he’s going to agree with me. Maybe he does, in his head, but what he says is, “Don’t you be bothering my sister none.”

            “I’m not!”

            “Yeah, right. You—”  
           

            What could turn into our routine argument— _You ain’t got no right to bother her. –She’s my friend!—_ is interrupted by JARVIS announcing new visitors. When the two women climb out of the elevator, laughing, Toni whoops and dashes across the room. “Aunt Andie!”

            Captain Rogers smiles at the other woman, who blushes and grins. “Hello, Miss Carol.”

            “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Clint sings from an air vent directly over the couch. Pop-Tart flings an Eggo box at his face; it bounces off the vent and opens, showering Nicole and Peter with defrosting waffles. Natasha hauls herself into the air duct, presumably to kick Clint’s ass. Bruce sighs and gets off the couch to scold Pop-Tart, leaving Ana with Mattie. When Mattie crosses her eyes, Ana laughs.

            “Okay, that’s it. Road trip. Come on, kids, get in the van. Let’s go.” Tony makes broad sweeping motions with his arms. “We’re going to the park before you break my Tower completely.”

            “Our Tower,” Bruce reminds him. Tony shrugs but kisses him all the same.

            “Hey, PDA! PDA!” Little Tony yells. Eva jumps off the side of the couch to tackle him. I roll out of the way just in time to avoid their flailing limbs.

            “Take it outside! Hey! Listen to me. You call me your dad, right? So why aren’t you listening? Kids!” Tony throws his hands in the air.

            Ms. Jess laughs. “Because they’re teenagers. Try this.” When she starts to clap, I know exactly what’s happening. It’s like eighth grade all over again. _Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap_ —I repeat it as soon as she finishes. _Clap-clap, clap, clap-clap—clap-clap, clap, clap-clap_. Alex joins in, and so does Beth, though her claps aren’t on the beat. Toni joins in the next round as she sits on the floor by me. Then Kaylee, Mattie, and Ana clap along, then Andie, Lauryn, and Carol. Finally, Ms. Jess has everyone’s attention. She cups her hands around her mouth. “All right, munchkins, listen up. As per your dad’s orders, we are going into the elevator, riding it down to the ground floor, and then we are going to the park. If you are under the age of 18, no wandering off. I’m looking at you, Anthony Brent.”

            “You too, Toni,” Tony says. Toni makes a ‘what did I do?’ face. Tony raises an eyebrow at her. “Seriously. The last thing we need is you loose in New York.”

            “What about us?” Peter asks indignantly. Nicole takes off her oversized glasses to wipe waffle bits off of the lenses. “Nicole and I walk around by ourselves all the time.”

            “We need to do our homework,” Nicole says a little frantically. “Midterms.”

“Please come with us, Aunt Nicole? Please come with us, Peter?” Alex widens his eyes. It’s the expression kids use when they know they’re adorable and want to use it to their advantage. “You can go on the swings with me and Bethie.”

            “Swings!” Beth says, raising her arms in jubilation. Toby and Ana echo her cry, and the other babies look up with interest. Tony sighs and lifts both Beth and Toby off the ground, making them giggle.

            “Come on, Peter,” Kaylee says. “Please?”

            Wally jumps onto the counter. “You have to come, Peter, ohmygod you have to come with us, you don’t understand, it’ll be the best—”

            “You have to keep us from killing each other,” Pop-Tart says.

            “—it’s not like we’ll be here forever, c’mon, am I not sexy enough for you? We could even go to Wal-Mart—oh my God, Papa Bruce, Daddy Tony, can we--?”

            “No,” Bruce and Tony both say. Wally deflates a little before perking back up.

            “We can chase pigeons!”

            “Oh, God.” Tony hangs his head. “Bruce, talk her out of that.”

            “She’s eighteen.” Bruce shrugs. “She can do what she wants with pigeons.”

            “If we’re going, let’s go,” Steve says. Carol offers her arm to him; he blushes before he links his arm with hers. “Get in the elevator, everyone.”

            I hesitate. “Do we all fit?”

            “Sure we do.” Toni hauls me to my feet. “C’mon. Let’s go to the park.”

            Steve and Carol are the first ones in the elevator. Mattie follows them, carrying Ana, who’s blowing spit bubbles in her dad’s direction. Clint perches on the elevator railing and blows spit bubbles back until Natasha elbows him in the ribs. We all crowd in around them. It would be uncomfortably close around anyone else, but here, it’s nice. Ms. Jess wraps an arm around Eva and Little Tony while Toni tugs on Tony’s arms and Kaylee hangs on to Nicole and Peter. I’m so close to Bruce that I can touch his back, so I do, tentatively. He looks back at me, and I try to grin and hide my face in Toni’s shoulder at the same time. I think he smiles back.

            There’s a moment in dreams, sometimes, right before I wake up, where I know that I’m dreaming but can still control what happens in the dream. That sensation hits me just as the elevator reaches the ground floor. I know that I only have a few minutes before I wake up, and it hits me right in the gut that this isn’t real. Even so, as soon as we’re out of the elevator, I race around the group, trying to hug as many people as I can before I wake up.

            I hug Toni first, squeezing as tightly as I can. Then I hug Wally and Pop-Tart at the same time, nearly getting strangled in return. My hug for Natasha and Clint is quick and nervous because even in my dream, they’re dangerous. Bruce makes a surprised sound when I hug him, and Steve and Thor both try to hug back. Carol laughs, and Eva pats my back, and Little Tony jumps out of my way. I hold onto Ms. Jess for a second too long, and I know I’m wasting time, but it’s the hug I want to give her every day. Then I grab Tony, sort of, around Toby and Beth. Beth pats my head while Alex latches onto my waist.

            I can feel myself waking up as I grab Mattie’s shoulders. There’s just not enough time. I nearly trip over Alex as I’m reaching for Andie. Lauryn catches me and pulls me upright. Peter hugs me of his own volition; I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. The dream fades as I start to grab Nicole. I cuss and try to hold onto her, try to force myself back into sleep, but then—

            Sunlight streams into my bedroom. I stare at the clock, which is just a blur of blue without my glasses. It must be a Saturday. My parents are awake and rattling around the kitchen, making either breakfast or, more likely, lunch. I sigh and roll out of bed. Instead of heading to the bathroom like I usually do when I first wake up, I open my laptop.

            I’m not sure what to write. “I dreamed…” I dreamed what?

            Finally, I type:

            Then I press “Ask.”

 


	2. 42nd Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole breaks a leg, Peter is a romantic, and Wade finally makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicole is one BAMF. That is all.

When I wake up in the dream this time, I’m in a darkened theater. It takes my eyes about a minute to adjust, so I lean back in my cushy chair and listen to the people sing. The small person sitting next to me kicks their legs against the seat in front of them. I instinctively put a hand on their knees to make them stop. “Shh.”

“Sorry,” they whisper. Alex, I realize. I can barely make out his silhouette in the light from the stage. When the girl onstage starts to sing, Alex's jaw drops. “Nicole can sing,” he says in a tone that would be more appropriate for saying “Nicole is God.” Ms. Jess, who’s sitting on his other side, covers his mouth with one hand. Alex ducks away from her and stares up at the stage, open-mouthed. I follow his gaze to watch the show.

It seems as though everyone in our row of superheroes and friends of superheroes is a sucker for musicals. Bruce leans forward in his chair, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. Peter braces his hands on the arms of his seat. Even the littlest kids stay quiet except to laugh at funny bits while we watch the show. I’ve heard of 42nd Street before; I try to make a mental note to read the book while I watch Nicole play Anytime Annie onstage. She sings, she dances, and it’s amazing. I’m lost in the story before I know it.

When it ends, I have to shake myself out of world of the characters so I can get up with everyone else to give the performers a standing ovation. Nicole’s up there with the rest of them, flushed and laughing. I’m watching Alex jump up and down on his seat when Kaylee hisses, “Peter’s gone!”

“Shit,” Tony says. Bruce’s eyebrows go way up. Ms. Jess starts to edge down the row to go look for him when the entire audience gasps. There’s Spider-Man, hanging upside-down from the ceiling above the stage, handing Nicole a bouquet of roses. A collective “ooooh!” rises from our group. Little Tony cusses and hands Eva a wad of money. 

Alex tugs on his mother’s sleeve. “Mommy, are Aunt Nicole and Peter gonna get married?”

Thor roars with laughter. Down the row, Clint covers his face with his hand. 

Once Spider-Man’s left the stage, the actors scramble backstage, too. As the rest of us are swept out to the lobby by the crowd, I imagine the chaos of backstage, the euphoric feeling of pulling off costumes after a great show. I do a pirouette in the hall and try not to be jealous of Nicole. Natasha raises an eyebrow at me. “Ballet?”

“Thirteen years. Not anymore. Too out of shape.” I try to pirouette again and end up falling on top of Toni. She shoves me away, but I jump on her back. “Oh, my God, Peter.”

“I know. ROSES. C’mon, we’re going to catch Nicole as soon as she comes out here and ask her about it.” When I don’t get off her back, Toni sighs and takes off at a run. I clutch at her shoulders until I slide too far down her back. Then I jump off and race ahead of her to the stage door. Kaylee, Wally, Pop-Tart, Clint, Eva, Little Tony, and Alex are already waiting there. 

Kaylee hops from foot to foot. “He got her roses! He got her roses! He got her roses!”

“Don’t bug her about it, munchkins,” Ms. Jess calls. When I turn my head to stick out my tongue at her, she winks. “I’m serious.”

“Seriously, guys. Seriously,” I say. Kaylee’s energy is infectious, or maybe it’s the energy I got from watching the musical. Whatever it is, it makes me run around the entire group before coming back to stand by Little Tony. He flips me off. Alex gives him a dirty look. 

“Hey, guys. Back off a little. Come on.” Bruce comes over and tries to shoo us away from the door. “Don’t embarrass Nicole. We came here to support her, remember?”

“But roses, Papa Bruce. Roses!” Wally says, her expression nearly maniacal. 

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “I understand the roses are a big deal, but this isn’t the time, okay? Congratulate her. Tell her how good of a job she did—”

“—because that was fucking awesome,” Tony finishes. 

Wally hangs her head. “Later, can we ask about the roses?”

“I don’t think we can stop you, really,” Natasha says. “But Clint isn’t allowed to.”

Clint scowls. Eva hits him in the stomach, then scampers over to Bruce and hugs him. When Bruce pats her back, she says, “You have beautiful hair, Papa Bruce.”

Bruce blinks. “I—why? What?”

“It’s true,” Ms. Jess and I both say. Luckily for Ms. Jess, she’s half-hidden behind a pole already. I have to duck behind Toni when Bruce looks at me.

I’m trying to formulate an escape plan that doesn’t involve throwing Ms. Jess under the bus when the stage doors open and a horde of sweaty, laughing, makeup-smeared people stumble out. When our group catches a glimpse of Nicole, we start screaming. Alex launches himself at her and attaches himself to her leg so that she has to limp over to us. As soon as she’s reasonably close, we surround her, hugging her, patting her back, giving her high-fives. Everyone’s talking at once. Nicole grins in the stunned way of someone who’s entirely overwhelmed. “You’re amazing,” I yell at her over the noise. I think she says “thanks.”

We’ve finally settled down enough to head back to the cars when a ceiling vent scrapes open. “Hey, Nicole!” a voice calls. 

One of the other actors says, faintly, “Is that Deadpool?”

“Hell yes,” Wade says from his place in the ceiling. He reeks of tacos, as per usual. I bury my face in Toni’s shirt. “You did great out there, man.”

“Thanks.” Nicole gives him the thumbs-up. “You were watching?”

“Yeah. Seats are too mainstream for me. I got a better viewpoint.” Wade grins. “Got to see your loverboy give you roses.”

Nicole’s face slowly turns red. Alex takes that opportunity to ask, “Aunt Nicole, are you and Peter getting married?”

“Not yet,” Ms. Jess says before Nicole can answer. She tugs Alex away. “Time for you to go home to bed, mister.”

“But—”

“No. It’s bedtime. Wade, stop—” 

Ms. Jess bites her tongue. Little Tony fills in for her. “Stop bein’ a little shit.”

“I’m not a little shit. I’m a big shit. See you later, suckers.” Wade smirks before he pulls the air vent closed.

Eva scowls at the ceiling. “Come back here, you slut!” Wade’s only response is laughter.

Bruce sighs. Tony slings one arm around his shoulders and one arm around Nicole’s. “You did great, kid.”

Ms. Jess puts an arm around Nicole on the other side. “Fantastic. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sure there are some intense grammar/spelling issues. I wrote this without proofreading at all. Please point out any mistakes you see, and I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. A Whole Bunch of Turkeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bruce bake, the Macy's Parade cruises by the Tower, and life is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick with the flu, but this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. I know I left people out. I'm sorry. Unbetaed.

            I wake up to the smell of turkey baking. Immediately, I’m on my feet, vaulting over the haphazard piles of books and papers on my bedroom floor and sprinting down the hall. I skid into the kitchen on stocking feet, trip over a small child, and slam my head into Wade Wilson’s back.

            “Goooood morning,” he says. He’s wearing his stupid mask, but I can bet he’s wearing a shit-eating grin beneath it.

            “Ow,” I say, but I don’t cry. If I can’t be home for Thanksgiving, Avengers Tower is the next best thing. “Turkey.”

            “Turkey,” Alex agrees, twining himself around my legs like an oversized cat. “I want turkey now.”

            “Well, it’s not done now,” Ms. Jess calls from the den, “so you can’t eat it now.”

            Alex whines. It sounds like he’s in pain. I empathize completely. I may or may not echo the noise.

            “Kirstin,” Ms. Jess warns.

            “But I’m hungry,” I protest because I am. It’s Thanksgiving. I’ve been living off college food for the past four months. I deserve turkey.

            “It’s not done yet,” Bruce says from where he’s peeling potatoes over the sink. He sounds only slightly more patient than Ms. Jess. “The parade’s about to start. Why don’t you go watch?”

            “Can I have a potato?”

            “No.”

            “Half a potato?”

            “No.”

            “A fourth—”

            “They’re raw,” Steve calls over his shoulder. He’s pulling on oven mitts, which means that turkey’s coming out of the oven in T minus two seconds. When I give him puppy dog eyes, he shakes his head. “You really want a raw potato?”

            “You don’t really want a raw potato.” Bruce sounds caught between irritation and laughter.

            I shrug. “I’m gonna chew somebody’s arm off if I don’t eat something soon.”

            Ms. Jess makes an incredulous sound. “Listen to you, Ms. Sassypants. What side of the bed did you wake up on?”

            “The side that’s recovering from the flu and really wants a potato.”

            Bruce pauses in peeling the potatoes. He squints up at the ceiling for a moment. I hold my breath, hoping…Sure enough, he hands me a tiny slice of potato and gives another to Alex. “Don’t blame me if you don’t like it,” he warns. “Now get out of the kitchen. All right?”

            There’s a shriek from the den, where all the little kids have their noses pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Look!” Beth yells. “Balloons!”

            “The parade!” Alex yells back. He drops his potato slice on the floor and barrels into the den as Snoopy floats past with Woodstock on his head. I choke on my slice of potato. I’d forgotten the Avengers lived in New York. The Macy’s Parade isn’t just on TV. It’s REAL. It’s outside the WINDOW.

            “Paraaaade!” Wade pirouettes past me. Halfway to the window, he’s tackled by Wally and Pop-Tart, who drag him down the hall to God knows what fate. I think Wally says something menacing about Peter and Christmas sweaters. I hide behind a lamp for a minute just in case. As soon as I’m sure they’re gone, I step out of the shadows—just in time to get bowled over by Eva and Tony—Ms. Jess’ Tony, not Bruce’s. It takes me a second to escape their wrestling match. At least I think they’re just wrestling and not trying to kill each other. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

            “You get to eat already?” an indignant voice says. I turn around to get the full force of Kaylee’s glare. In that moment, I realize two things quickly: one, she’s grown up a lot, and two, she’s going to kill me. I shake my head hard. “Then what’s in your mouth?”

            “Your mom,” Tony says. Eva hits him in the head. “Ow!”

            “It’s—it’s just—”

            “Is it turkey?” Kaylee demands.

            A vent in the ceiling scrapes open. Clint pokes his head through, eyes wide. “Turkey’s done?”

            “No,” Steve and Bruce call from the kitchen. “The turkey’s not ready yet.”

            A door downstairs slams open. A moment later, Toni and Tony tumble out of the elevator. “Did someone say the turkey’s ready?”

“No,” Steve and Bruce say.

            “The feast is--?”

            “No, Thor!” Bruce looks kind of like he’s going to chuck a potato at Thor’s head. Thor does the wise thing and retreats to the pool room.

            Kaylee crosses her arms. “Then what—” She gestures at me. “—is she eating?”

            I quiver in my metaphorical boots. “It’s just a potato.”

            Kaylee squints. “A potato?”

            “A potato.”

            “A potato.”

            “A potato.”

            “‘A wall?’ ‘A wall,’” Toni says. I choke on what’s left of my potato as I start to laugh.

            Clint looks bemused. “But the potatoes aren’t done yet.”

            “You can eat potatoes raw,” Natasha calls from the kitchen. She snatches a potato from Bruce and starts to carve it with a knife she produces out of thin air.

            “Mama,” Michael calls. He toddles into the kitchen and attaches himself to his mum’s legs. Natasha pats his head, then continues whittling the potato.

            “But…” Clint and Kaylee give me matching hurt looks. “Why?”

            “Because…potatoes.”

            “BEHOLD, FRIENDS!”

            I leap behind the lamp again. Just in time! Wally and Pop-Tart race into the room, dragging Wade and Peter into the den. All of them are wearing ridiculous Christmas sweaters and reindeer antlers. Wally and Pop-Tart have tinsel wrapped around the boys so they have no choice in the matter. Peter’s got that thousand-yard stare of war veterans. Wade whimpers.

            Bruce sets down the potatoes, takes off his glasses, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Wally.”

            “Behold,” Wally says. She grins maniacally.

            Tony edges toward the elevator. “Wally…”

            “Behold.” Wally bounces on the balls of her feet. “Lookie, lookie, LOOK WHAT WE DID!”

            Thor pokes his head out of the pool room. “Friend Wally?”

            “Guess what tonight is.”

            “Just guess,” Pop-Tart prompts.

            Toni’s eyes widen. “Oh, no.”

            Ms. Jess frowns. “What? What are you all doing now?”

            Wally cackles. Pop-Tart dances around his hostages. Wade whimpers again. Peter looks like he might cry. “Guess what tonight is!”

            Suddenly, Tony’s eyes widen. “No. No. No, Wally, you are not repeating last year.”

            “You’d better believe I am.”

            “No.”

            “Oh, yeah.”

            “What…” Ms. Jess’ Tony shakes his head, suddenly understanding. “You ain’t gonna survive.”

            Wally’s grin widens. “Watch me.”

            Steve pulls off his oven mitts and crosses his arms over his chest. “What is tonight?”

            Alex gasps. He hops up and down in place. “Christmas! Christmas!” The other kids shriek. Soon, they’re all jumping around, screaming, “Christmas!” Kaylee and Eva both facepalm.

            “No, guys, that’s next month. Next month. Not yet,” Ms. Jess says. “Not yet.”

            “Tonight’s when I conquer.” Wally’s bouncing around just as much as the little kids are. While everyone else watches, dumbfounded, she hops on the couch and yells “Black Friday!” in Clint’s face. Clint flails, curses, and falls out of the vent, nearly crushing Kaylee.

            Tony looks like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. “No. No. No, Wally, no. You do not need to be anywhere near a Wal-Mart on Black Friday—”

            “—in my element, Daddy Tony—”

            “—gonna die—”

            “—am a grown-ass woman who don’t need no man—”

            The argument covers the oven timer’s shrill beep. None of us notice that the turkey’s out of the oven and on the dining room table until Nicole’s sitting there, chowing down on a drumstick and some stuffing. Kaylee makes a traumatized sound. “Traitor,” Peter yelps.

            Nicole grins. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you get to spend it with the people you love.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I'm incredibly sorry if somebody didn't get included in this fic. I hope it didn't burn your eyes. I hope you're not insulted. Tell me if there are typos or gross grammatical errors. I just knew that if I didn't post this now, I never would. I love all of you. You are my real-life heroes. xx


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